


Trust Me, I'm A Doctor

by Charlie_Parker



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Doctor!Reader, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Parker/pseuds/Charlie_Parker
Summary: John Wick didn't stitch himself up after he took down the entire Russian mob.





	Trust Me, I'm A Doctor

Snip, click, more sounds of what was the stressful procedure of stitching up a man you had found beaten up in your sister’s animal shelter. You had been restocking the dog treats in the commissary in front since your sister was taking care of her stupid more-important-than-you baby. Your first clue something was off was when you heard the crashes and booms a few miles off and then the thud of a car ramming into the parking. Hearing the clattering of equipment in the back room was the last indication that you should probably check out what was happening.  
“Hey, you’re actually pretty good at this.” He said, as if he hadn’t just crawled out of a car that looked like it had gone through a Michael Bay movie.  
“Why wouldn’t I be? I told you, I’m a doctor.” In fact, when you first walked in the room, those are the four magic words you first said to him, or rather screamed: ‘I AM A DOCTOR’ like a fucking psycho.  
“Because you screamed in my face when you saw me. Generally doctors are pretty good with blood.”  
“Dude, you look fucked up. Sorry if I didn’t expect that while I was closing up shop.” You murmured. It had been a while since you had done any sort of stitching. In your specialization, it wasn’t something you did often.  
“Not too bad though, right?” He gave you a look as if he would blink if he hadn’t gotten the muscle above his brow torn.  
“Yeah, you’ll look back to normal in a month, maybe.”  
“Maybe?”  
He was laying almost completely naked on the stainless steel table your sister often used to examine the dogs she’s putting up for adoption, broken bones and severe bruises from his foot to his forehead. “You broke a few stitches and they’re fresh, so some other doctor probably stitched you up and told you not to bust them but you did anyway. So, yeah, you’ll heal in a month if you really want to.”  
“So what do I call you, Dr…?” You had been checking him out so subtly when he asked you that, it made you jump in surprise.  
“Gynecology.” You blurted out.  
“Dr. Gynecology?”  
“Fuck, no, I meant I’m a doctor of gynecology. I’m an OB/GYN.”  
“I was asking for your name- wait, gynecology?”  
“Yes.”  
“That explains so much.”  
You felt a bit offended by this “Like what?”  
“You tried to put lube on my bullet wound!”  
“So I could dig out the bullet easier!”  
“Doc..what do I call you?”  
“Y/N.”  
“Dr. Y/N, that’s fucking crazy.”  
“Oh well you know what’s fucking crazy, Mr…”  
“John.”  
“-Mr. John, is showing up to a dog pound, breaking in through the back door, and trying to stitch yourself up like ‘no big fucking deal, I’ll just operate on myself and cross my fingers it works’. Except you can’t cross your fingers, John, because you have to fucking give yourself stitches!”  
In John’s mind- through the slowly fading cat morphine you had made him take so you could stitch him up- he thought he may be in love with you. But what came out was “Can I get a dog?”  
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You weren’t mad, just really taken aback.  
“A dog. Can I have your finest dog, please.”  
“Uh, I mean, like, right now?”  
“Yes.”  
“Probably not, no.”  
“I’ll walk it. I still need to buy some food for it but, I would really like a dog.”  
You sighed through your nose and looked past John to the cages of the dogs that were supposed to be euthanized already. Your sister had left you in charge while on maternity leave and you didn’t want to even kill the flies that made it passed the front door. “Can I give you a few?”  
“What did you have in mind?”  
You walked over to the first dog scheduled to be euthanized, a tenderhearted pitbull who should have been dead five days ago. “Tell you what, I’ll drive you and this guy to your home. Considering you can’t really drive.” The proof was in the parking, as they say.  
John considered it for a moment “Deal, Dr. Gyno.”


End file.
